Will of the Blades
by Zephirine
Summary: Irelia holds a deep grudge against Noxus-the invaders of her land. What was Ionia had collapsed in that battle, been re-built, and had kept itself guarded since. Time elapsed since the events, but has Irelia changed too much for redemption?


Will of the Blades

1

Dark, crimson blood smeared the Ionian land, coating Irelia with the sheen of red. Her fingers clutched the tarnished sword as she swung the dull end into the side of a horse. The Noxian reacted quickly, unsheathing his weapon and aiming it for the head of the girl. With heaviness in her body, she ducked and moved forward, aiming the weapon at the belly of the animal. It struck true, cutting through the skin into the flesh. She pushed the weapon farther into the animal, until it had hit an organ. The horse's dying scream sounded as warrior and horse fell.

Without hesitation, Irelia grabbed the sword and struggled to dislodge it, using a foot to hold the body at place. As her muscles ached and her head became light with exertion, the Noxian had re-gained balance, grabbing the blade with his fingers. Irelia could only watch as his cupped hand bled with his own blood, dripping down the metal of the sword, onto the dead horse. He gripped it even harder, until long streams of blood continued to flow from his self-inflicted wounds. Irelia fought for the blade, kicking and punching the man. He endured the pain before pulling the sword away from her reach, turning the point of the blade to face her.

"For Noxus," he spat, plunging the weapon into her skull.

The Institute of War neared her vision, blocking out the re-surfacing memories in her mind. The familiar scent of bloodshed disappeared. Her eyes, used to shades of red, had found comfort in the white. Irelia enjoyed having the strong presence of the Institute. In many ways it was a painkiller, dulling memories and blocking out rising animosity in her veins. Whenever she exited the Institute, images would present themselves to her, gruesome pictures of limbs severed, blood running like a river in the midst of a battlefield. The blood of allies and foes alike would colour her skin, make its way into her nose, the iron and metallic scent overpowering. She would watch as her land was stripped of power, could only grieve for the many who had been slaughtered like farm animals.

"So lucky are the souls that don't have to live in the company of the Noxians," she hissed. Every minute she spent with them was another minute of hatred and spite. She could sense the guard they held up, trying to remain neutral. It was easy for them—the killers. It was not easy for Irelia, the one who bore the brunt of the consequences, who had seen her family and friends die from the hands of the wicked. They had coveted power, and so they received it.

A blank opened in her mind. All the notorious, dark, toxic energy that poisoned her mind, seeped out, as if something had punctured a hole in her thoughts. Irelia closed her eyes, feeling a lifting. Her mind drifted away from the Institute until it sharpened under the haze of Summoner's Rift.

"Ionia shall not fall," she spoke fiercely. Adrenaline spiked her mood, relieving the gloominess with a thirst for vengeance. She moved swiftly to the top lane, watching as her comrades moved to their positions.

Irelia felt Nocturne's aphotic presence. He moved alongside her, hidden in the shadows, silent. The air around her dropped to a chilling temperature. Goosebumps rose in the back of her arms, her heart pounding with anticipation. He glided to his position as they waited for the Ancient Golem to spawn. Irelia walked into lane soon afterwards, feeling the bush graze her skin. She stayed there, hidden, waiting for an opening.

A hulking figure clad in rusted armor walked in. Large shoulder plates with sharp points hid his muscular arms. Trailing behind him was a red cape. He swung his large axe with ease, hitting the minion before it died. The blood had long dried from his axe, but no doubt, he had kept it there for decoration, perhaps to remind his enemies whose blood would be on his weapon. Irelia tensed, strengthening the grip on her blade.

He grunted as he swung his axe around to get the remaining minions. At this time, Irelia dashed forward, slicing his body with her blade. He reacted quickly, digging into her skin with every slash. Irelia breathed heavily as his axe cut her arm. Her blood dripped onto his body, drop by drop, to which he groaned in pleasure.

"Enjoying the pain, Will of the Blades?" His sinister voice rang clear in her ears; the sounds of the minions drowned out.

She ignored his taunt, focusing on hitting the creep. He laughed and ran towards her. Irelia backed away before his axe was swung. She started panting heavily, chastising herself for engaging in the fight. It was one she could not win, at least not at the moment.

Darius guarded the minions, attacking whenever Irelia came near. Her frustration grew.

"Noxus scum," she snarled. The words drifted to his ears. His smirk was replaced with anger. He reached out and grabbed her, swinging his axe into her lean body. She cried out in pain, coughing out blood. Blood continuously seeped from her wounds, despite her efforts to heal. As he readied the killing blow, Irelia dodged to the minion. He turned around and followed, chasing his prey. Nocturne hid in the bush, waiting for the unsuspecting attacker to reach the river.

Irelia was slowed, leaving a trail of blood to mark her path. Darius rushed to her, pulling her body to his. He attempted to leap to her location. He found himself stunned, pierced by her blade, unable to do so. Enraged, he immediately ran into the bush in her direction. Nocturne turned the world dark, launching his nearly nebulous form into the opposing champion. Darius shouted in agony, feeling a leech on his mind, as nightmares took control of his conscious.

A dusk trail followed his feet as he wildly moved about. He breathed out loudly, eyes narrowing at the darkness. In his peripherals, he spotted Irelia, dashing out of the battle and shooting her four blades into the minions. Knowing his death was near, he flashed onto her location, drawing his axe up in a high arc. It swung down into her skull. Both corpses fell into the river of blood.

_First blood. _

_ An enemy has been slain. _

As Irelia returned to the fountain, Katarina appeared, buying items. Her fiery red hair was messy, the scar on her face even more prominent. She directed her sharp green eyes to her, narrowing them at the sight of Irelia.

"Nice first blood, Will of the Blades." she scowled, her feline eyes matching Irelia's green ones.

"Nice creep score," Irelia retorted, glaring at the Noxian. The tension grew between them, until Katarina menacingly raised a blade, a crude smile on her lips.

"If I could, I'd kill you." She dragged the blade along the length of her own finger, a line of red dotting the blade. The wound instantly healed. "You Ionians are so haughty, yet so cowardly. You speak of accomplishments, but back away at any mention of a challenge. It's not even worth Noxus' time to invade your land."

Irelia held her place. The centre orb of her blade pulsed a deep red; the small blades dancing around her ceased their fluid motion, instead taking a ragged, unnatural path. She smelled the scent of blood again, as if she were on the battlefield. Fury shot up her body, making her fingers itch into a fist. Katarina laughed and walked back to her lane.

"Get back to your lane," hissed Nocturne, roughly pushing past her. A chill ran up her spine, waking her up from her silence. An outburst of frustration escaped her lips, as she ran back to face Darius. For a second, she thought she could see Katarina glance back with a sneer.

"My axe lusts for more of your blood," Darius gibed. Irelia looked at him contemptuously, biting down the words on her tongue. Her thoughts simmered, as she looked into Darius' black eyes, blatant in their malicious intent. He was searching for a reaction, provoking her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of belittling her or Ionia. She would be the one to deride him in due time.

Her eyes were cloaked with indifference, as she responded to him. "You may as well cease to exist, for your words don't matter to me."

It was a lie. Any foul words spewing from a Noxian's mouth were remembered in Irelia's mind. It was the only way to win: to succeed. Hatred fueled strength and power, did it not? Corrupted power was perhaps the more detailed conclusion, but power nonetheless. The thought of becoming like a Noxian was unbearable, but the taste of power and the thought of having everyone opposing her fall to their knees… It was a forbidden fruit tree on top of a great hill.

"Hah!" Darius' sides shook with mirth. He swung his axe to Irelia, stopping it a millimeter away from her face. "My axe doesn't need words to speak; it speaks for itself."

She flinched at the proximity of the weapon. Her blades seemed to be magnetized to him, struggling to dig themselves in his skin. He fought with brute strength, not agility and fluency that Irelia had with her blades. She wanted to test her strength against him, but how could she? She wasn't strong enough. Irelia took a step back to his challenge, to which a smug look came across his brutish face.

"No surprise." He scoffed. "You don't have the will or the ability to duel me."

His abhorrent smile was imprinted in her mind as his body faded away.

Soraka's ethereal voice and gentle magic soothed the aches in Irelia's body. After every fight she was healed, but no magic was alike to the Star Child's. The Summoner's Rift magic was rushed and meant for speed, only healing the most painful of wounds. Soraka had a genial air around her, healing Irelia's tensed muscles and fretful thoughts.

Irelia sat, quiet as well. Soraka had been an ally to her since Noxus had invaded Ionia. She had kept Irelia's soul from drifting away into the underworld. Sometimes in her most perturbed states, she could hear the restless souls call for her, cry in indignation at her existence, when they had succumbed to death. Why did Irelia deserve to live when the others had died? She often pondered this, wondering if she would have been priority if she wasn't the daughter of the swordsman—if she didn't know the art of the blades. Likely not, she thought dimly.

"Thank you," she murmured to the horned individual. Soraka nodded, used to the solemness of The Will of the Blades. She was long used to Irelia's quiet and serious disposition. It still felt odd, though—as if a candle had been blown out, so sudden from the change that it felt as if she had descended into darkness.

"Take care of your body. Do not stress yourself; League is but a game in the end."

She nodded with a faraway look in her eyes. When she walked away, she could sense Soraka's apprehensive gaze.

She turned the corner into the practice room. The figure stared stoically at her as she hacked away at its limbs, straw falling to the ground. Again and again she practiced, marking the figure, disemboweling, striking. Her feet seemed to be in a constant blur as she dashed around the dummy. Each hit made her feel more and more energized. Each consecutive hit built up more impact, until the figure was reduced to a pile of straw and shreds of cloth.

Beads of sweat clung to her furrowed brows, sliding down across her nose. It almost didn't seem satisfactory—to fight an inanimate object, an object with no possible or probable way to fight back. She might as well have just imagined scenes of fights in her imagination. That would have brought more benefit than this training.

In a sudden state of agitation, she brought up her blade and violently slashed the pile of straw into the air. A large exclamation escaped her lips as frustration began to settle in. Katarina's and Darius' words re-visited her head, causing each hit to have a little more power, each muscle strained to be endured a little longer.

"Die," she growled, a steely glint in her eyes. "Die!" Her scream pierced the air, matching her blade to the figure. It flew off its string, launching to the wall and then to the ground. The bodies lain on the ground, senseless, not having enough life to be even considered deceased. They were mere puppets, training tools. They weren't real; they were never going to be.

Irelia thought she could hear a faint creak in the wooden flooring. Giving a quick glance behind her, she saw nothing but the wall of the Institute stare back at her.

A familiar goggled face came into vision, in their hands clutching a long samurai sword. Master Yi stopped in his tracks, noting Irelia's absorbed look. He opened his mouth, taking a foot back as if to give her privacy. She shook her head, beckoning him in.

"I was just about to leave," she spoke. He nodded his thanks, moving with incomprehensible speed to the dummies with a blink of her eyes.

Irelia walked out, unaware of the pair of eyes watching her. She felt isolated in the hallway. It was brightly lit and furnished with paintings of figures in the Institute of War, but it brought no company like a human presence did. She thought that the eyes of the paintings were watching her; as she turned to look, she quickly suppressed that thought. Her paranoia was starting to creep up to her—for the passing moments subsequent to the strange ordeal with the paintings, she imagined surveillance cameras at the corners of every wall and ceiling. She could feel the hairs on her neck stand up with subconscious knowledge of someone looking at her. Was it subconscious? She wondered, uneasy.

"Irelia," an articulate and formal voice said.

Her breath hitched up at the sudden sound. She looked to the corner to see the inquisitive look on the man's face. Irelia could see her reflection in the golden armor of the Exemplar of Demacia. His polished shoulder-guards glistened in the focused light, emphasizing the crown upon his head, and the meticulous emblem on his chest. In contrast to the luster in his armor-clad body were the sharp claws of a dragon piercing out of his shoulder plates.

"I'm surprised to see you here."

Her perplexity at his statement grew into cognizance.

"I hadn't expected to see you at the Demacian domicile," he continued.

Irelia's oblivion left her slightly abashed. "I apologize; I wasn't paying attention as I was walking."

It wasn't against conduct to be at another city's abode for champions; it was mutually agreed upon, without speech or direct indication, that each champion would stay to his dwelling.

"I see. No harm done." His speech sounded distant, as if his mind were in another location than there, and in another time than the present.

Silence ensued: Irelia too embarrassed to say anything, while Jarvan IV, too engrossed in his own thoughts. He absentmindedly rubbed the hilt of his lance.

"I was just off to practice. Care to join me?"

Irelia shook her head. "I just came back from training."

"Very well. Take care of yourself, Will of the Blades."

They parted ways: Irelia back to Ionia; Jarvan IV back to Demacia. Irelia couldn't help but think as his eyebrows dipped, as if he was in a brooding state of mind.


End file.
